For A Favor Returned
by kitsuneronbun
Summary: Aziraphale wakes to find himself in a very strange place, with a very intriguing stranger. AC.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Good Omens and its characters are not mine. (Big surprise)  
**Author's Note:** I always seem to start my stories with a 'What If?' scenario. Here's another one of them. I have a general idea of where this story will go, but I always tend to surprise

myself. Updates for this may take much longer than my usual 2 or 3 days between chapters, seeing that I have busy tymes aheade.

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**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 1: "This Morning"**

Aziraphale slowly opened his eyes to the soft rays of sunlight streaming into his room. White curtains fluttered gracefully , as if a dream tugging at the corners of his mind. He blinked sleepily, sighing in content as he snuggled closer to this great comforting warmth next to him. The blue walls and bright ceiling above him made him feel as if he was in heaven, soothing him in its protective embrace. Great white sheets, soft as feathers enveloped his body and this warmth he couldn't ignore.

Aziraphale closed his eyes happily, it was all so wonderful, the angel thought. So, so wonderful.

And wrong.

The angel's eyes flew open as he sat up with a start.

This was wrong.

He did not sleep. He did not even remember going to sleep. He did not know this bed, this room.

"Whats wrong love?"

Aziraphale's eyes widened in shock, as he turned to realize it was a man right next to him. He watched in speechless horror as the man lazily draped an arm across his waist. It was then that Aziraphale realized that he was naked. He swallowed hard, utterly confused and afraid, unable to make any sense of anything before him.

The room was painted a light sky blue, littered with sparse white wicker furniture; some chairs and a table, a token vanity and wardrobe. One corner was covered with luggage and clothing he could only assume was his and his companion's. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, like no day he's ever seen in London. The large windows welcomed a breeze smelling of salt and sea. At the far end facing the bed was a mirror, and the face staring back at the angel was not his. Much too young, much too thin to be the body he's known for the better half of this century.

Aziraphale's spectacularly stunned mind would not allow him to form any words, nor would let him move away from the human next to him.

"Love? You look so scared," the man said, sitting up to face Aziraphale.

The angel's eyes swivelled slowly to meet the other's viridian gaze, fighting down every urge to bolt.

The man was handsome, his insane mind insisted; dark hair made light by spending too many days under the sun fell upon eyes that were studying him intently. They peered at him from skin tanned to the color of mocha.

"Did you have a bad dream?" he asked with wide concerned eyes.

Aziraphale stared at him, finally finding his voice. "A bad dream?" he repeated feebly, feeling the insanity of the moment; how calm and wonderful everything was around him, how much in contrast to the thunderous thumping of his human heart. His voice almost trembled with barely contained hysteria.

The brunette gingerly swept away the angel's hair with a hand and kissed him adoringly. He smiled as he pulled away, thinking his companion's wide-eyed silence as proof of his theory, "Told you to lay off those prinjolatas last night, didn't I?"

Aziraphale could only stare at him, fists clenched on his lap. He couldn't decide which was crazier; the fact that this stranger has just kissed him, or the fact that he had no idea where he is, who he's with and why he's here. He watched, with mad detachment as the man kissed him once more - on the cheek this time - and got up to dress. He looked away, blushing, and only glanced back as a cellphone began ringing. The guy fished about under the pile of clothing for a moment, finally finding the device and flipped it on to answer.

"Yeah? Paulo here."

Aziraphale turned away, as his companion leaned out one the windows to get better reception. He hurriedly got up, but not before trying to miracle on some underpants beneath the sheets. Nothing happened. It certainly only added to the angel's panic. What was happening to him? He couldn't have been discorporated without his knowledge, could he? That was rather impossible.

In the background, Aziraphale could hear snippets of the guy's - Paulo's - conversation, as he desperately tried to distinguish which clothes on the floor were his.

_- "Yep, yeah. We'll be snorkelling later today." -_

It couldn't be too hard, right? Aziraphale thought, his hands trembling. He clutched the sheet he was wrapped in with a death grip as he scanned through the luggage.

_- "Ahaha, yeah. I'll see. You know how Ozzie is. Jumping off a bridge will be a tall order for him." -_

Ozzie? Was that his name? The angel grabbed at the nearest bag tag and read the messy script: Oswald A. Keen. He opened the luggage attached to it hurriedly and pulled on the first pair of boxers he saw.

_- "He's fine. A bit jittery this morning though, maybe didn't sleep too well." - _Paulo watched in silent amusement as his companion dug ravenously through his luggage, like an all-too-eager kid opening a Christmas present. _"Hmm? Yeah, sure. Hold on a sec -"_

Aziraphale almost jumped out of his skin when Paulo gave him a pat on the shoulder. He looked up wonderingly, clutching a rumpled white shirt to his chest.

"Hey Oz, Chaz wants to talk to you."

The cellphone was thrust to his face and all the angel could do was accept it in barely contained panic. Paulo seemed to think nothing of this and walked off to the direction of the bathroom. Aziraphale stared at the device, not knowing what to do, and raised it apprehensively to his ear.

"H- hallo?" There was silence on the other line, and Aziraphale could not decide which was the better option; feign a heart attack - which he was sure he was just a few minutes away from anyway - or pretend to be Oz. The angel took a deep breath and chose self-preservation. "Hallo, er, Chaz?"

_"Aziraphale. How are you?"_

The angel jumped to his feet, a faint hope suffusing all confusion. The voice on the line called him by name. His real name. "I- I'm -" he stammered, "Wait, who is this?"

_"It is good to find you well, Aziraphale."_

"Well?" the chuckle that escaped the angelic lips bordered on sarcasm, "Well?! I am not well. I am not in my body!"

_"Keep your voice down, Aziraphale. The human might overhear."_ The deep otherworldly voice hinted faintly at amusement.

"Then what the hell has happened to me?!" Aziraphale hissed into the phone.

_"Or what in heaven."_ A faint laugh, _"I apologize that I had to... re-assign you to a new body in such short notice. I'm afraid, it really is for your own safety."_

Aziraphale could barely hold back the screams he felt were working their way up his throat. "What?! My _safety?!_"

"Oz, you alright?"

The angel, turned to the direction of the voice, and saw Paulo peering out the bathroom door. He waved him away hurriedly, "I'm okay, dear boy. Perfectly fine." Then turned back to the phone, whispering frantically, "My safety?"

_"Yes, Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate."_ The voice laughed with real mirth, _"I'm afraid so. Something is after you, something quite dangerous, and ugly and rather smelly if you ask me. This was really the only way to protect you."_

"I do not understand," Aziraphale whispered into the cellphone, "My safety? I didn't know I was in any trouble to begin with."

_"Aziraphale,"_ the voice said patiently, _"I assure you. Hadn't it been of paramount urgency last night, you would still be in your bookshop right now, none-the-wiser."_

"Then why -"

_"Patience, Aziraphale. I know you've got more of it, seeing that you use so much of it for the demon."_

That gave the angel pause, pursing his lips together like a child being tutted over by an overly-patient mother.

_"Speaking of whom, is quite energetically looking for you right now."_ The voice laughed good-naturedly, as if it had all the time in the world.

As a matter of fact, it did.

"Crowley?"

_"Yes, I suppose you can thank him for your present situation. He was kind enough to give us a heads up."_

"A heads up."

_"Indeed. Anyway, you are to remain incognito until the crisis has been neutralized."_

Aziraphale's vice grip on the phone could have crushed the plastic casing, had he been other than human at the moment. "Neutralized." He repeated, dazed.

_"Yes. The demon Crowley is working on it as we speak. I'm sure you understand without saying that nobody must find out you're an angel. It should be easy enough, since that you've been playing human the last four thousand years."_

"Er... yes." Aziraphale croaked, not knowing how to play human at all - aside from collecting books, eating well, debating the dichotomy of good and evil (with a demon - which really wasn't very human at all), and occasionally getting a manicure.

The voice continued,_ "It's unfortunately the best we can do at moment. You're quite stuck on Earth, I'm afraid. However, you're virtually invisible to Hell as long as you're human."_

"Right." The angel - human - said carefully.

_"Just don't get yourself killed. That would be terrible. I may not be able to bring you back entirely."_ The voice said quickly and nonchalantly, hoping not to alarm the angel.

Aziraphale gasped, horrified. "You mean, I might die?! For real?"

_"Might, is the operative term. I'm not too sure. I haven't had to turn an angel, human, in a long long time. Or well ever."_ There was a nervous chuckle, _"But I can certainly turn you back - as soon as you're safe, of course."_ The Voice hastily added.

"Then... then I'd better not leave this room at all!"

_"Your companion wouldn't like that."_ The Voice pointed out.

"Paulo will have to be very understanding now, wouldn't he?" Aziraphale said hysterically.

There was the slightest pause, as if whoever on the other line was thinking for a moment; _"Nope. No. Paulo is only somewhat understanding. He usually gets his way you know."_

Aziraphale, incredulous, gestured wildly towards the closed bathroom door. "Then, WHY, pray-tell, am I stuck with him?!"

_"Because **I **work in wondrous and mysterious ways. Duh."_

The angel suddenly stood still, realization hitting him only now. His eyes wide, and mouth agape, he barely was able to form the word on his tongue, "G- God?"

_"Yes, Aziraphale."_

"I'm - I'm sorry Sir. For, shouting and - and", he squawked.

God laughed heartily, _"Aziraphale,"_ He said patiently,_ "Listen well. I will be granting you only one miracle a day. Just for the direst of emergencies, do you understand? The use of firmament may give away your position."_

"Y-yes sir."

_"Good. I will be in touch."_

There was the slightest of shifts in reality, like gusts of wind suddenly changing course and settling over you in a cocoon. Aziraphale swallowed, and the sound on the other end told him the line to Him was gone. He carefully flipped close the cellphone and stared out to the brilliant blue skies outside. His heart was still hammering away, the insanity and hysteria from minutes ago replaced entirely with doubt and anxiety. At least, he told himself, at least he wasn't completely clueless anymore.

Aziraphale calmly slipped into the crumpled white shirt he'd been clutching the whole time, one hand still unwilling to let go of the device - his mind latching onto the smallest sense of security the thing gave to him, God will be in touch, he firmly told himself. He walked slowly to the vanity, watching his unfamiliar reflection approach, studying himself, absently memorizing the new features. Aziraphale was deep in thought; I will be alright, he told himself.

Paulo emerged from the bath, fresh from a shower, and found his companion staring at the mirror. He felt something was deeply wrong with Oz, but could find no explanation for it. He looked no different from the time he'd closed his eyes last night with Ozzie in his arms. Concerned, Paulo walked up to Aziraphale's back, and embraced him, laying down his head on one lean shoulder.

He did not notice Aziraphale's unfocused gaze, eyes gleaming with forced concentration somewhere deep in his mind. He couldnt not imagine 'actual death', he could not imagine the absolute mortality placed before him. How can humans live like this? Knowing you can die anytime, anywhere, for keeps. Leaving everything behind; your things, your home.

Your love.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, feeling the warm embrace around him, giving him uneasy comfort.

"Everything will be alright, love." Paulo said, in his ear. "I promise you, everything will be alright."


	2. Chapter 2: Last Night

Author's Note: Earlie Modernne Englishe tooke quite a longe Bitte of refearche, educaitede gueffef an brayne Power. Forgiveth me for Any errorse, Aye am butte A lowlie FanneFictione writer.

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**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 2: "Last Night"**

Crowley woke up with a great start, eyes wildly scanning the room around him. His body was pumping adrenaline a mile a minute, readying the demon for the fight of his life. He narrowed his eyes, forcing calm on his frayed nerves, taking in the dark room before him. It seemed quiet enough, the furniture were all fine, the paintings gracing his wall were all there, his verdant plants still... verdant. Nothing really was out of the ordinary, and he felt his tense muscles beginning to relax if a bit warily.

Must have been just the dream, he thought, rather nervous.

He glanced at his watch, and realized with surprise that he'd only been dozing a couple of hours - not a day as he'd thought. Crowley ran a hand through his hair which immediately arranged themselves a bit more neatly. He slumped back into bed, and stared hard into the white ceiling; what was wrong with him, he thought? He hasn't had any decent sleep the last few weeks since...

The demon closed his eyes and swallowed nervously.

Since he doused Ligur with enough holy water to sanctify the whole flat and all contents within it.

Hell may be ignoring him now, but he knew things were brewing. Things were coming up. And that made Crowley very worried.

Demons liked holding grudges, they liked it a whole lot. They can hold onto the smallest grudge for hundreds of years, letting it grow and fester into the greatest seeds of vengeance.

Killing - no - horribly killing Ligur through divine means, was no small act to hold a small grudge about.

Crowley sighed inwardly, forcing calm, and opened his eyes, almost half expecting Hastur's leering visage to be peering down at him. He got up, and massaged his temples. He willed the forming headache away, but did not escape the looming sense of danger around him. The demon forced himself to his feet and morosely padded to his kitchen. He slunk into his barely used barstools, where a rather surprised bottle of Bourgeolais was waiting at the counter. He poured himself a glass and emptied it in a second.

It wasn't just the overwhelming sense of forboding that was getting to him. It was the dreams. He kept dreaming the same thing again and again. Every night, it begins and ends the same way; and it never ends well. Not especially for Aziraphale.

Crowley clenched his jaw involutarily and poured himself another glass.

They knew, he surmised. Of course they knew what the angel meant to him. They knew just what Crowley would do for him, and what the demon could do to himself if he lost Aziraphale.

And _that_, was the best possible way of exacting vengeance on him.

Crowley knocked back the wine quickly, almost violently, hoping to rid himself of these thoughts. Hell wouldn't dare, now would they?

But Hastur. He makes demons harboring grudges for centuries on end, look like very well-adjusted and balanced individuals - and a Duke of Hell, no less. The old boy hated losing anything to anyone. Not even Ligur, whom wasn't really well-trusted or liked, but was a great convenience. Having someone to boss around for the rest of eternity was a great boon in a place where everyone was really just fodder for anyone else with just a step up the proverbial ladder. Hastur, Crowley knew for sure, certainly didn't appreciate losing one of the fewest conveniences Hell afforded him.

He poured himself another glass.

Crowley stared at the red liquid, turning thoughts in his mind. The dreams were horrible, and if he hasn't just gotten so used to sleeping, he'd have stopped trying to get any shut-eye altogether. The dreams all began when that letter came in from the post some days ago - all brown and withered and ancient. He almost knew immediately who it was from.

_Daemon, Great Changge is to Come.  
Thine Angel sharle be thruste in direst neede  
To-night, when you dreame ande the Telie-Phone ringse thrice  
the Voice of one scorned yow will hear  
He is com to collecte vengeance  
take advantaige of thy Loue, he will  
Call upon God, bye chalke an Circle  
the onlie way to save Azerafel_

_who is Becomme manne onne a islandes bye Siflie  
Ane a deade manne Will be hys Allye and Yours.  
_

_For a favore Returneth_

_taketh Heede of mine Wordes._

Crowley turned the words over and over in his head, the letter sat in his jacket's breast pocket, taunting him from the coat rack. He buried his face in his hands, forcing down the knot in his throat. He's read the letter so many times, he knew it by heart. The demon looked sidelong at the nearest ansaphone sitting at the steel counter which has never seen anything but Aziraphale's cooking, almost daring it to ring. He stared at it, taunting the machine to ring three times. The torment was killing him, this 'knowing-but-not-knowing'. The witch could have meant anything; it could happen tonight, tomorrow, next week, next year, or _next sodding century._

And Crowley was not particularly keen on waiting on edge for the rest of his immortal existence.

Nor was he exactly looking forward to the events actually happening.

What did he do to deserve this?! Exasperated, he threw the wine glass in hand at the nearest wall angrily. The poor bottle of wine followed it shortly.

The sound of the crash was loud and abrupt in the stillness of Crowley's flat. But what followed, pierced through what little stillness his terrified heart yet had.

The phone rang.

Now, Crowley has seen this movie with Aziraphale once about a dead girl who crawled out of televisions from her watery grave, announcing her victims'deaths through the phone. It was a major sensation, and they both laughed at it, or well he did, proud of the success of his latest pet project while Aziraphale pretended not to be affected at all by avoiding his phone at the book shop at all costs. Crowley thought it was hilarious; that an immortal being would be so afraid to pick up a damn telephone for fear of - as the humans would put it - A Fate Worse Than Death.

This irony did not escape Anthony J. Crowley as he ever-cautiously approached.

If he was going to be completely honest with himself; Crowley would admit to the fact that he was more than terrified; he was quite literally, horrified beyond words. He eyed the black plastic as if it was a waiting bucket of holy water -and a child holding a supersoaker was standing right next to it. He took a step forward warily. Now, certainly, this couldn't be happening, Crowley kept telling himself. It can't be real.

But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was.

The phone rang again.

Crowley's legs propelled him forward to the gleaming black device. He swallowed hard, mentally preparing himself for the absolute worst. Agnes was never wrong, he knew. No one can doubt that, not especially after her 'participation' in the almost-apocalypse. He can only wonder though why she would bother to warn him - he almost ran over her only descendant just a few months ago.

The demon's slender fingers reached the cold reciever, nearly trembling from awful anticipation.

Keep it together Crowley, he told himself; keep it together if you want to hope seeing this through.

The phone rang a third time, and Crowley picked up with the expression of a man being read his final judgement and sentence. Throat dry, he croaked; "Hallo?"

There was silence, and Crowley's human stomach twisted in fear. The seconds slowly stretched into the longest moment of the demon's life.

"Hallo?" he repeated, quietly, eyes wide. His breath was coming out short and hitched; the demons lean body drawn taut with the utmost certainty that this was the beginning of the end.

_"Hallo? Hardy's? I'd like to order a Vesuvius, 16inch."_

Crowley, confused, stared at the reciever for a moment. "What?" he said sharply to the blurry man's voice on the other line.

_"A Vesuvius, man. Additional toppings; extra black olives and that sun-blushed tomato sounds good too."_

"Sun blushed tomato?" Crowley said incredulously, trying to wrap his mind around the man's rambling - the terrible anxiety from seconds ago forgotten for the moment. Wasn't Hastur supposed to be on the line?

_"Yes."_ said the man a tad irritably, _"Are you new or something? 'Cause I'd like my pizza to get here tonight. Know what I mean?"_

Crowley could only listen in disbelief, as the man continued to talk, relief flooding in. This was Agnes' three rings?! He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and a nervous chuckle escaped his lips.

_"-- and a couple of Coronas and a diet Coke. Got that?"_

Crowley's lips were still curved in a vicious smile when he finally spoke. "Listen, pal. You've got the wrong number." He slammed down the plastic handset with some satisfaction, knowing devilishly that tomorrow Hardy's will have conveniently changed its name and takeaway number. Something so far from its original restaurant name and concept, something that sounds cool and a bit absurd. Maybe something like 752degrees, Crowley thought absently; best temperature to _burn_ things.

The phone began ringing once again, and Crowley's hand, still on the reciever automatically picked it up.

_"I can't have the wrong number, PAL. Now let me talk to your sodding manager."_

Crowley only smiled in what could only be aptly called demonic amusement and dropped the reciever back into its cradle, deciding that the man would wake up tomorrow with a really bad case of numeric dyslexia.

The phone rang once again, and Crowley picked up, beginning to admire the man's persistence. "I said -" he began.

_"Hello Crowley."_

The smile on the demon's face vanished in a heartbeat, mouth suddenly very dry. He did not reply. He knew, it didn't matter whether he did or not. It was Hastur. The knot in his stomach resurfaced.

In full force.

_"I'm coming to collect payment for what you took from me."_

Crowley breathed, and said as sarcastically as he can, "What, for Ligur? He needed the bath anyway."

The deep and hollow voice at the other end ignored Crowley. _"You take something from me. I take something from you. Sounds fair enough. Considering we're demons, I'd say I'm actually being a saint."_

"Now you listen to me you sodding git -"

_"Aziraphale is so beautiful, isn't he? That why you like him so much? His human body ain't much to look at if you ask me. Oh but his real form,"_ Hastur sounded like he was licking his lips, _"His angelic body, is certainly exquisite."_

Crowley's throat clamped shut at the mention of the Principality.

_"Lost your tongue, Crawly? Thinking how prettily he'll struggle when I take him? How wonderful those innocent little eyes would twitter in fear under me? Doing to him all those nasty naughty things you wish to but wouldn't because you love him?"_

"Hastur, you fu-"

_"Now Crawly, you listen to **me**. I can't see why the Boss wouldn't do anything about this 'affliction' of yours. But I will. Like I said, fair's fair; _

_I'll be seeing your angel shortly."_

And just like that, the line went dead. Crowley listened to the dial tone not really hearing the ominous monotone. The reciever dropped from his hands; but Crowley was already out the kitchen before it even hit the counter.

He was running. Sprinting up to his bedroom, only stopping by the walk-in closet. Hands trembling, he yanked open one of his drawers, destroying the lock in the process and began rummaging frantically. When finally, he found what he was desperately looking for, Crowley hurried back into the room and his enormous bed moved almost violently back into the far wall on its own accord with a small gesture of his hand. The floor beneath revealed a chalk circle, identical to the one in Aziraphale's bookshop, save for one added passage scrawled in hastily by the demon's own handwriting.

Crowley stared at it, still in disbelief at what he was about to do. He knew he was shaking, and forcibly steeled himself. Carefully, almost reverentially, he stepped into the circle and brought up the small parchment clutched in hand. He swallowed, unrolled it and began reading aloud.

These were The Words, and Crowley - or any demon in Hell for that matter - wouldn't know until much later that night that a demon could actually survive a direct call into Heaven as long as his heart was true and intentions pure.


	3. Chapter 3: That Fateful Morning

Author's Note: Its taking me longer and longer in between chapters, so I apologize for that. Its certainly not for lack of inspiration, Heaven knows its all in my head just waiting to be written. The demons of work are simply always after me.

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**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 3: "That Fateful Morning"**

Hastur didn't like surprises. He didn't like them in any way, shape or form unless he was the one dealing them out. He also had a great aversion to being thwarted - most especially by a demon of lower rank by the name of A.J. Crowley. These facts, coupled with the empty shell of a body that once housed an angel slumped upon the desk in front of Hastur to ponder, did not improve his dour mood at all. Truth be told, it was by sheer hatred and anger that rooted the Duke of Hell upon one of Aziraphale's favorite armchairs; its battered leather and knobby, scratched wood stood wilting against Hastur's demonic weight.

Face and jaw firmly set in grimace, Hastur stared at the body and its soulless eyes, seeing how the angel's deserted corpus looked so much like a porcelain doll, all hollow and brittle with age. It was quickly deteriorating into dust, and the demon knew it would all be gone by the time the morning sun reached its apex in the sky. Hastur watched with mirthless intesity. He had been sitting there for hours now, unwilling to admit to himself that he didn't really know what to do next. Crowley, that bastard, he surely must have done something unbelievably stupid - or holy - to pull this trick of. The Duke of Hell, internally blanched at the disgusting thought and could only wonder all the more why the snake hadn't been disposed of centuries ago. If he was the Boss, he'd have taken care of Anthony J. Crowley lifetimes ago. He could only surmise with more incredulity and disgust that the sole reason the lesser demon had been let alone all this time was because he had something that Hastur didn't. Some mystery quality that kept him within the fires of Hell but not burning within it. Something different or special.

And _that_, made Hastur's hatred for Crowley balloon further into the statosphere.

The only question and reason which remained now really, was; how does one find an angel? It should be easy, a demon just really needs to sniff out the holy aura and follow it. And yet, damning as it was, Aziraphale - and no other angel for that matter - could be sensed on this mortal plane. The aether only carried the faintest sniff of Crowley.

Hastur threw a sharp glance upon the bookshop's entrance, a mass of sigils burned clean into the antique wood. He's placed those, the moment he entered the space - for his protection and the angel's binding.

Which means, Hastur knew at least this with certainty; that the angel was still here. On this plane of existence, only hidden, in a church, possibly locked within a heavily warded circle - which was very doubtful, Hastur knew, as it was about as intelligent as hiding a breadbasket in a bakeshop. The 'scent' of such a circle, using so much firmament, will be so amusingly easy to follow even if masked by the masses of Churches all over the world.

No.

Hastur knew that it must be far more efficient than that; he surely gave Heaven enough credit not to underestimate the Big Man Upstairs.

The Duke, finally settled back into the leather chair, a small smile creeping up to his thin lips. There really was only one recourse for heaven, and it was to make the angel, human. Invisible to demons, yes. More vulnerable? Oh, most definitely. Hastur knew that all he had to do was wait. He doubted that Crowley would be stupid enough to follow the angel - assuming he knew where his paramour was - but didn't eliminate the possibility of following the snake around.

All he had to do was wait. One tiny mistake from the angel or Crowley would be enough. Hastur's smile brightened with grim satisfaction as he sat watching the crumbling body before him; he has all of forever to wait - Aziraphale, human and mortal, does not.

Besides, he told himself, it won't take long. Humans make mistakes all the time.

*******

Aziraphale had made the gravest mistake of asking Paulo to pick out his clothes for him. He smiled politely through a grimace at a couple of young women waving at them as they passed, and toyed distractedly at the one item of clothing - if you could call it that - on his torso. The tribal necklace, he thought as he felt the shark tooth, was certainly of bad taste. The sandals kept getting sand in them, making it absolutely uncomfortable, and the sleek blue and gray 'boardshorts' as Paulo called them, were barely covering his knees. He hasn't worn anything so scanty in public since, probably the invention of the wheel.

"Where are we going again?" he asked, trying to keep up with the brunette's striding pace.

It had taken the longest arguing, begging and negotiating to get the angel out of the hotel room, or the shower for that matter. However, God was right, as He always was; Paulo got his way regardless.

Paulo paused for a moment, "The pier, a boat's waiting to take us out to Comino for some snorkelling." He gave Aziraphale a look that said, 'you're not going to weasel out of this'.

"Oh yes. Er. Of course." Aziraphale nodded, and they both resumed pace. He managed to keep his mouth shut for a while, but only for a while. The prospect of swimming in open water with creatures that could be lethal in so many messy and painful ways, didn't appeal to him in the slightest. He hasn't swam in centuries; the last time he's been in a large body of water was with Crowley in a private Roman bath, and that could hardly be considered as swimming in as much as soaking and wading. "Have I mentioned how dangerous it could be? We could touch something poisonous, or drown. Or get eaten by sharks!"

*******

Crowley knew where Aziraphale was, but he didn't know where Aziraphale was exactly. And in what shape he's in. He can only assume from Agnes' letter that the Principality had become human, and that both soothed and worried him. He can't feel Aziraphale in the aether, and that was good, because that meant Hastur can't too. But it also meant that he was mortal, now that worried Crowley to no end.

He shifted his dark glasses, watching the masses of people around him, milling and jostling in line, dragging their luggage in an endless parade.  
The lights of an airport always got to him, much like the stark whiteness of a hospital. It smelled of impermanence and artificiality; alien and foreboding. While airports and hospitals were perfect for accidents and misdeeds, places practically begging for something wrong to happen, he disliked them. Crowley would never admit it to Aziraphale, but he disliked places like this just as much as the angel, preferring the cozy bookshop over anything . He had been sitting there for hours now, waiting. Just waiting, watching travellers come and go, watching flights come in and out, watching that one particular flight that he had a ticket for.

Crowley had been deliberating all night and all morning, sitting there. Thinking if he should or shouldn't. This overwhelming desire to follow and find Aziraphale battled furiously with the logical course of staying away at all costs. Hastur can't find Aziraphale, but he certainly can follow a demon. Crowley wasn't stupid, he wasn't about to lead a Duke of Hell to Aziraphale.  
But try as he might, he can't assuage this great nagging want. He wanted to see that Aziraphale was alright, he wanted to know beyond any doubt that the angel was fine. That he wasn't going to walk absently into a street full of cars because he's forgotten that they won't naturally avoid him anymore. He wanted to feel that Aziraphale was still around. The absence of the holy aura on this plane was most unsettling. Crowley has gotten so used to it, that the loss of it was almost unbearable.

The demon checked his watch, saw what time it was in 10 different cities around the world, of which none he cared about at the moment, and looked up just in time to see his flight number come up. Just as it did, five hours ago. He stared at it intently, paying no heed to the minutes ticking away, watching with detached fascination as the 'Check In' heading next to his flight number changed eventually into 'Boarding', to finally; 'Last Call'. It was all he could do to stay in his seat, willing his feet to stay and be still. Crowley didn't know why he was doing this to himself. It was slow and maddening torture; knowing that with just a few steps, he could be on a plane to see Aziraphale, but knowing too, that in doing that, he will certainly damn the angel and put to waste all of his efforts tonight.

So he sat there. It was all he could do. He sat there watching that flight number arrive and depart, again and again.

It would never end, he knew. This hiding, and pursuing, and hiding some more. Hastur can keep on this chase for as long as it takes, and Crowley knew that it would even be the pleasure of the duke, seeing how much torment it will inflict upon the lesser demon.

Crowley finally closed his eyes. There was only one recourse, really. And it was to destroy Hastur. A feat so much easier said than done with so many infinitesimal complications that it made Crowley's brain hurt. Demons for starters, were not allowed to destroy fellow demons unless it had the Boss' stamp of approval. Crowley also knew, that had it not been for Adam, he should be in the 9th Circle of hell right now, roasting on a fire spit in renumeration for Ligur's death.

Destroy Hastur. Thats the solution, Crowley's mind repeated. And the possible sanctions for such an action? He knew he will endure it. For Aziraphale, Crowley knew without any doubt that he would endure anything; no matter how painful or horrible or terrible it was. For as long as he was assured that the angel would finally be safe; Crowley will do whatever it takes.

Eyes yet closed, the demon Crowley tilted his head back, as if to look up to the heavens beyond. Yes. For Aziraphale, he would do anything.

He stood up to leave, mind finally made, the plane ticket crushed hastily into his jacket pocket. There was work to be done.

*******

Hundreds of miles away, Aziraphale looked out longingly past the sea. The small motor boat slowly made progress towards their destination, cutting a swath through the green-blue waters and seafoam. The bright afternoon sun, sparkled marverlously upon the water, reflecting against Aziraphale's young face, casting a glow on his wistful blue eyes. Paulo was saying something with animated eagerness about the islands, which he nodded to absently, only noticing with distracted detachment how beautiful the day was unfolding before them.

It didn't matter to him in the slightest, as the angel stared out northwards. His thoughts were not on islands and beaches, nor of exotic marine biology or of snorkelling and suntan lotion. Aziraphale was thinking about ducks and tweed coats, books and ridiculously expensive wines; getting drunk with a certain demon whom he could only wonder about now.

Where are you Crowley? Aziraphale mused silently, hoping and praying that his counterpart was alright. He was fighting all urges to use his one miracle to transport himself back home.

When Paulo tugged at him arm, pointing at a rock formation not so far away, Aziraphale nodded politely and heard himself say; "My, how lovely that is." He let his thoughts be distracted for the moment; knowing that the image of Hastur tugging at the edges of his mind was just lurking there. Waiting.

And indeed, he was, a few thousand miles away in a bookshop in Soho. Waiting patiently like the predator that he was. Just waiting for either angel or demon to make a mistake.

.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Anyone guess where Aziraphale is? First correct guesser gets a custom made GO fic from me :p Please review!

* * *

**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 4**

An angel looked up into the dark sky, wondering where in its infinite vastness was God. It wasn't because he doubted His presence, nor was it because he doubted His wisdom. It was simple and idle curiosity, the kind which mortals had about things which they did not know or understand. The kind which Aziraphale had now as he stared up into night sky; watching stars twinkle and the moon glimmer. He closed his eyes for but a moment, listening to the faint crashing of waves in the distance. Never had he realized how much faith humanity had. To believe in a God that they could not sense or feel the way he did as an angel. Having that absolute certainty that there was someone looking out for you. Ang now, that was gone. He was suddenly so painfully aware of all the senses and feelings he have taken for granted over the millenia. He brought up the wine bottle to his lips and sipped a bit. Aziraphale was slowly but surely aiming for sloshed but not dead drunk as he would have liked, much as had would have been if he was human whenever he spent the time drinking with Crowley. His very human liver and constitution at the moment could only take so much alchohol, and he'd become painfully aware that the hangovers in the mornings were never to be taken lighly. Still though, all those centuries of drinking experience with a demon had been paying off the last few days. Paulo could hardly match the the mortal angel's hollow leg. Aziraphale wasn't very keen on Paulo's physical affections, and though he knew it was quite underhanded, the angel thought he was fully justified in doing everything in his power to weasel out of every advance and leading touch Paulo seemed to want every night.

Aziraphale put the bottle of wine to his lips once more, regretting for just a moment that he was stuck with a vintage only a couple of years old - from an unknown vineyard that was churning out stuff that was more like vinegary grape juice than an actual red. But, one cannot be choosy now. Not when he was practically a sort of refugee stuck on a tiny island in the middle of the Mediterranean hiding from a very mean, very destructive demon who also happens to be a duke of hell.

Nope, he can't really be choosy right now.

The angel sighed, and leaned back on the wicker chair, looking up to the sky. A breeze blew through the veranda, ruffling his dirty blonde hair, as he turned his thoughts back on Crowley. Its been a conscious and difficult battle, keeping his wills in check, and his urges in tow. With just the simplest of thoughts, he could miracle something without meaning it, putting to waste everything Crowley had worked for. Aziraphale sighed in silence, closing his eyes, wondering how all of this will end.

*******

Inside, Paulo watched the sullen silhouette of his lover. Watching the tanned arm move now and then, lifting the wine bottle to those lips he longed to kiss once more. Since that seemingly normal morning some days ago, Ozzie had become distant, avoiding any intimate contact. By all accounts, Ozzie was undeniably him. Same unusual food preferences and sweet tooth; same love for old books; same neurotic apprehension over anything remotely dangerous, wild or 'new'; same taste in clothes (which by and far have always been old fashioned). Paulo smiled a bit at that, remembering how long it took before he was able to practically dictate what his lover should wear.

He lay back quietly, turning thoughts in his head and closed his eyes as he felt Ozzie stagger slowly back in the room. He pretended to be asleep, as Ozzie lay down next to him gingerly at the farthest edge of the bed. That was the only other difference too, Paulo thought. Oz loved to snuggle. He lay there for a while listening to his own breathing, deep in thought. He wanted so much, but held that urge at bay. Paulo felt that he should be thankful to even have Ozzie at his side right now, to be breathing, to even be thinking about all of these things. He sighed and finally allowed himself to drift asleep.

*******

It was late in the morning when Aziraphale finally woke up. He stretched in a slow languid motion, yawning. He mumbled a bit, thinking of the vague dream he had been having, and buried his face deeper into the pillow. No wonder Crowley loved to sleep, Aziraphale's blurry mind thought. Sleep was absolutely divine. There was some movement around him, but he tenaciously ignored it, wanting to slip back into his sleeping world and never wake up til he was fully an angel again. The sound persisted though, and it was with some effort that he finally realized that it was someone talking.

"Oz. Oz, get up."

Aziraphale grumbled and pulled up the sheets over his head.

Paulo persisted and yanked the blanket off his partner; "I said get up Ozzie. We'll miss the tour bus."

"What tour bus?" Aziraphale mumbled and covered his face from the bright sunlight.

"The tour bus that'll take us through Valletta." Paulo poked the other's rib and got an annoyed groan in reply. He cleared his throat to stifle a laugh. "You know, the tour you've been going on and on and on about since we got here."

"Valletta?" the angel asked despite knowing exactly where it was. He's been there before sure enough... a few centuries ago.

"Yup, Valletta." Paulo smiled his brightest when his companion finally opened one lazy blue eye. "We might be able to see the National Library too, if theres time left over."

That finally caught Aziraphale's ear, and he finally blinked his eyes open to stare at Paulo, albeit a bit suspiciously. "The library?" he said carefully, trying not to let his rising enthusiasm show. "Nothing unbelievably stupid or dangerous?"

The brunette opposite him shook his head 'no'.

"No business whatsoever about this jumping bungee-thing."

"Yes. No bungee jumping, Oz. Just a boring old tour that'll rot my brain out into boredom. Just the kind of dusty, old, quiet places you like." Paulo offered his most sincere smile.

Aziraphale finally sat up. "Well we musn't be late then." he said with an enthusiastic presence that Paulo haven't heard in days.

The brunette smiled, and realized that he should have done this much sooner.

*******

The Seatbelt safety sign clicked on for the what could have been the hundreth time for this flight alone. Crowley sighed and focused his quickly diminishing patience on the champagne flute in hand. He drank it down, and it was swiftly refilled by a stewardess. He looked out the tiny window, deep in thought. He'd been flying everywhere for days now, nonstop. No more than a few hours were spent at each destination, but just enough for him to leave a demonic 'scent' trail as it were. A tiny accident here, a minor mishap there, a barely traceable use of firmament at every country he's visited in the last 4 days. Just enough for Hastur to 'sniff out' if he tried real hard, but not enough to leave a clear wake in his path.

That should buy him some time, Crowley surmised grimly.

Crowley glanced at his food for a moment, then resumed ignoring it. Airplane food, in his honest opinion, rather tasted quite the same, whether you flew first class or economy.

The Seatbelt safety signed clicked off once again in that sound that was supposed to be unobtrusive. Crowley didn't care, he never wore seatbelts anyway. He'll need a few more days he guessed. He was fairly sure Hastur was already following him, and to Crowley; it was better himself than Aziraphale. A few more days and he would have bought himself enough time to properly prepare and 'arm' himself at the final destination. For a demon such as himself, acquiring the necessary amount of Holy water shouldn't be too hard. It was the transporting and handling part which worried him excessively. For but a moment, the demon's mind contemplated the contents of his check-in and carry on baggage. Crowley shuddered at the thought. Maybe he should have brought a Hazmat suit as well he mused, but quickly dismissed the thought. If he was gonna go, he certainly wasn't going to die in a ridiculous silver suit. A.J. Crowley would go down in style.

And he will take Hastur with him back into hell. One way or another, Crowley thought grimly as he brought his glass once again to his lips, he will.

*******

Halfway around the world, where an angel was almost close to 'happy' once again, the day was slowly coming to a close. The afternoon sunlight was lazily turning itself into shades of orange and gold. Aziraphale was actually smiling genuinely by the time they left the National Library. In his arms was a bag full of touristy knick knacks and books, neither Paulo nor Crowley would have been caught dead with. Paulo couldn't decide which was more embarassing though; the cheap plastic bag filled with useless souvenirs or the happy dopey grin on Ozzie's face as he peered into his acquisitions of the day.

"Hey listen, Oz. I was thinking maybe we can grab an early dinner somewhere near the hotel. Then we can look for a small pub or something." Despite himself, and the cheesy things in Ozzie's arms, Paulo was also smiling brightly. They were walking hurriedly down a dusty sidewalk, hoping not to miss the tour bus.

Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment, matching Paulo's hurried steps. He must admit, he did take much longer than the tour guide said they could at the library. "That sounds good." he said with a bounce in his step. Sooner they got to the bus, the sooner he could open up one of his purchases and enjoy it.

"Great!"

They both stepped off a curb, not noticing the traffic, in their concern to get back to the bus before it left. Neither realized that the traffic lights had just turned green before it was almost too late. What happened next would forever be a blur in Aziraphale's memory. Not two seconds since both their feet hit the street, a car's all-too-near honking filled both their senses. It rang loudly in their ears, and in an instant Aziraphale knew they did something wrong. Paulo was just a couple of steps ahead of him, and that was enough. His eyes seemed to realize what was about to happen and Paulo had barely made a quarter turn towards Aziraphale, pushing him back onto the sidewalk -

And that was when a bright yellow car came speeding in a blur before Aziraphale, so near he felt the whoosh of rushing air on his face, hitting Paulo with such tremendous force that his body was flung several feet. Books and bag forgotten, Aziraphale madly trembling from the realization that he has just escaped real death by just literally inches, dropped everything in his arms and staggered to where Paulo's body lay.

"Paulo?" he whispered in horror, oblivious to the woman who had jumped out of the car and was screaming her head off in a language Aziraphale clearly understood but would not accept.

There was little blood - thankfully - as Aziraphale stood transfixed at Paulo's body splayed awkwardly on the street. The man. The man had just saved him, Aziraphale's mind repeated over and over. For no good reason at all. Maybe for love, maybe instinct, maybe built-in chivalry, but he did. He knelt slowly by Paulo's head, eyes wide. Just one miracle. Just one miracle and he can return the favor.

Aziraphale's angelic sense of duty took over; he paid no heed to the knowledge that in using a miracle, he was giving away his position. He was giving away all his security and safety. A mortal has just saved his immortal life; and that was enough.

"I am sorry Crowley." he whispered to himself, as he laid down a hand on Paulo's head.

The miracle was instantaneous. No fancy visual effects or mind-blowing display of power. It just was.

Paulo opened his eyes and sat up as if nothing happened just as a crowd was forming.

"Amazingly resilient, human bodies are." Aziraphale said. "You're alright." It was a statement not a fact.

Elsewhere in the world, a couple of demons, separated only by thousands of miles looked up suddenly. The pull of firmament was distinct and smelled thoroughly of the divine.

Crowley stopped suddenly in midstep, just as he was about to board a plane. "Oh shit."

Hastur, just six countries away on Crowley's trail, smiled devilishly.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: And... Raven Aorla has guessed correctly! Aziraphale is in Malta, in a resort town near Valleta, for reasons too lengthy and long-winded to write in an a/n.

**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 5**

When pressed for an answer as to why things happen the way they do, God will always smile as a reply. Its the kind of soft smile only beings of His stature could execute with an ineffably ferocious gentleness, the kind of Smile which says quite succinctly; I know Why and I'm not telling.

If pressed for an answer at the moment, as to why he did what he did just hours ago, Aziraphale would have smiled very uncomfortably - as it was very reckless and almost stupid of him - and would have went about finishing the rest of his drink on hand while making a firm mental note to, in turn, press God for an anwer as to why things happen the way they do.

In fact, he was already doing just that. The angel would be sure to ask Him exactly that, at the very first opportunity he gets. At the moment though, he will have to settle on a silent dialogue with a bartender who didn't seem to mind topping up his customer's waiting glass at every opportunity. Aziraphale on a general note usually did not like drinking beer, or malt, but this locally popular brew was steadily growing on him. He drank down a bit more of his Hop Leaf as he turned his thoughts over and over. He really should be on a plane right now, running as far away as he could from this place. The sooner he left, the better his chances of evading unsavory demons after him. Although, Aziraphale smiled bitterly; the sooner he left, the slimmer his chances of seeing a certain demon he was missing terribly. Besides, he _did_ call every major airline, and not one outbound plane had an available seat. Funny, how things seem to conspire against you at times like this.

Aziraphale sighed, then glanced momentarily at his erstwhile companion as he raised his glass to his lips. Paulo was playing pool at the far side of the somewhat deserted pub they'd wandered in. He seemed to have no clue or care of what Aziraphale had done that afternoon; they had carried on back to the tour bus as if nothing had happened.

Except, the angel's mind remembered distinctly - except that he'd looked at Aziraphale right in the eye, as if seeing him truly for the first time, and uttered; "Is that you, love?"

At that time, Aziraphale hadn't thought anything of it. He'd assumed that Paulo was probably just dazed or confused; seeing that surviving a head-on car collision wasn't in the norm of things. However, thinking about it now; something about the way he looked at him then, there was something about it that Aziraphale couldn't put his finger on. He stared long into his fizzy amber drink and couldn't decide if he was at the threshold of realizing something, or his mind had already crossed that line into stress-induced paranoia.

He closed his eyes and wished Crowley was here. The angel sighed, 'But what are the chances?' he mused; what are the chances that Crowley would turn up before he got mauled by whatever's after him?

*******

His plane has finally landed. Crowley was certain that this was the island country Agnes meant in the letter. No doubt about it. All he needs to do now was find a certain angel.

The last 5 hours, however, had been both the longest and shortest, but decidedly among the most stressful hours Crowley's ever endured in his immortal life. The need to will things into existence, and the urge to make things so, was just a few of the demon's many difficulties. He knew that it was absolutely necessary now to hide his tracks as much as possible, hoping that by avoiding the use of firmament, Hastur will find it harder to track him. He hasn't realized until then, just how difficult so many mundane things could be for humans.

Like catching a decent ride into the city.

That should have been so easy. But no; he just _had_ to have the luck of choosing the worst cabbie, probably in the whole damn city. Crowley was cursing under his breath by the time the bright yellow taxi came to a sputtering halt by this small side street. He was watching himself closely, lest he do something stupid, like will the car - and it's driver's - innards into something really nasty. So, he forced himself to think of a certain angel, who would have told him to be more patient with the driver and let things be. That thought, however, spurred his impatience even further and thats when he stepped out of the car and hauled out his meager luggage; a smallish suitcase - the kind which he's always seen on those spy films - and a black duffel bag. Crowley slung that over one shoulder, dropped his spare change from about four different countries he's last been to into the backseat and looked around for the nearest place where he could get a decent drink.

As luck would have it, a small pub was lit just a block away and Crowley began walking. He wanted to curse someone - anyone - for this. It was times like this that only affirmed his reasons for falling. One would think that Someone Up There could cut him some slack. He's out here trying to save a certain angel from certain damnation from a certain demon, for someone's sake. Crowley smiled grimly, one would think that he'd at least get some help from Him.

But no, apparently not.

Morosely, he plodded over to the pub, bags in hand. He could hear the distinct sounds of a pool game in progress and hoped that it won't be so crowded. He will need some quiet to think of some sort of plan to find Aziraphale - if he hasn't already left the country that is.

*******

Aziraphale had gotten up from his barstool to return to the hotel when he saw him. He entered quietly through the door, surveyed the bar through dark glasses, then walked deliberately past him, barely taking any notice of the angel. The demon's name played precariously at the tip of the angel's tongue, as his eyes followed the man wearing that ever impeccable suit, unblinking. He was too shocked, and happy and terrified all at once to even move, let alone speak. He wanted to yell and jump and accost the demon for being here at all. He wanted to give him a good hard punch for being such an adorable bastard. He wanted to hug him beyond anything he's ever wanted before.

It was almost too good to be true. Or maybe it was. Maybe he's drunk too much and he was hallucinating.

With trembling legs, Aziraphale followed the dark figure.

-

When Crowley entered the pub, he knew he had gotten at least a little lucky. The place was nearly deserted, save for a few people playing pool and a couple of men drinking their night away at the bar. He walked past one, which he thought fleetingly was rather attractive, if only he didn't gape and stare so much. He picked a table at the furthest corner, out of sight from nearly the rest of the place. He was in the middle of sliding into the cheap leather upholstered seat, still thinking how that man strangely reminded him of a certain angel, when Crowley realized that he had been followed. The demon looked up as he leaned back into the chair, and cooly regarded the same human he'd just been thinking about. The blonde was staring at him, pale as a ghost.

Crowley smirked, waving for a waiter. "Go away."

With wide blue eyes, Aziraphale leaned down, staring at the demon in disbelief. He didn't really hear the words, but only the demon's voice, and he brought up one tentative hand to touch him. Just to affirm that he was real. That he was here. Fingertips brushed feather-light against demonic cheekbone.

Crowley's eyebrow rose, curious. Most men knew to stay away from him. They were always innately drawn to or repelled from him - but no matter what, they all instinctively feared him. But not this one. The man had leaned in so close, Crowley could feel the warm breath on his cheek and with slight incredulity; Crowley stared back at such an audacious human. Those azure eyes watched him with such an intensity, they drew him in, like twin seas of swirling blue.

Only one being could do such a thing. Only one angel could so hold his gaze.

The demon found himself holding his breath in disbelief. No way. What chances were there that his angel was here, standing before him? And yet, _and yet -_

"Aziraphale?"  
"Crowley?"


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: This took me forever to write. I feel so bad that it took so long. Sorry, I really couldn't help it. Oh well. I hope you guys like it. Thank you so much to everyone who reviews! :)

**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 6**

Little Tommy Mitchell hated planes. It was absolutely atypical of a 7 year old boy. At a time when little boys loved anything with four wheels or propeller wings or both, Tommy was very much out of the norm. Nobody in his family knew why, but Tommy hated planes; he hated hearing them, seeing them, and most especially riding them. And seeing that, when Tommy finally quieted down to stare sulking out his little oval window, his parents resumed trying to to get some sleep - taking what little time they had to relax before Tommy threw another plane-related tantrum.

Thusly, when little Tommy Mitchell practically exploded from his seat in a fit of shrieks while pointing at his window, the Mitchells first apologized to the neighbors in order to be polite before soothing Tommy, and thought nothing of it.

But what they didn't realize, is that after this flight, Tommy will never, ever set foot in an airplane - or any flying craft for that matter - ever again. Thanks to a black, somewhat airplane-shaped abyss that reeked of pure unadulterated evil flying alongside little Tommy's window.

It was infra-black, tenebruous, and large. And it was smiling.

***********

Paulo stirred uneasily in sleep and reached instinctively for his lover. Still half unconscious, he fumbled a bit through the sheets, and found Ozzie missing. He groaned a bit, not really surprised but nonetheless disappointed. Paulo sighed as he reached for the bedside lamp and found a small piece of hotel stationery stuck to it. With a heavy heart, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and flicked on the lamp switch.

Impeccable cursive script greeted his eyes;

_I'm really sorry my dear. I just wanted to go see the library again. Hope you don't mind, and I know you dislike going with me anyway. Have fun jumping bungee._

_- Oswald_

Paulo buried his face in his hands for a moment, trying to will away that heavy, heavy lump in his heart. He stared for a bit, not really seeing his hands. He knows where Ozzie has been disappearing to the past couple of days. It wasn't so much the fact that Oz has indeed been hurrying to the library without him; it was really because of that strange man Paulo has seen him with. He couldn't really put a finger on it - aside of course from the very obvious fact that his Ozzie was with someone else.

He knew he was terribly jealous, and angry and downright feeling very possessive, but that man made Paulo's skin crawl. Something about him felt very wrong - otherworldly - and it wasn't just because he was extremely prejudiced at the moment.

Paulo simply wanted to give him a good hard beating for stealing Ozzie away from him.

And yet, he couldn't. That was the problem, Paulo thought sadly. For all his anger, Paulo recognized happiness in Ozzie's eyes. He's watched how the blonde's face lit up as they talked behind book stacks; how alive Ozzie's eyes were as they drank in his strange dark companion, how animated his lover's voice was as they talked of things he couldn't understand.

He couldn't take that away from Ozzie. He just didn't have the heart to take away those bright smiles from his love.

The brunette finally stood up, the note in his hands, and walked to their pile of luggage.

Besides, there was another thing too. Something he had been trying to make sense of the past two days. Snippets of Ozzie's conversation with the strange man. Glimpses and dreams he's been having since he woke up in the middle of a street with a very 'different' looking Ozzie gazing down upon him.

Paulo finally found Ozzie's bag, pulled off the luggage tag and placed the note in hand next to it; green eyes bright with bewilderment. He didn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified; the handwriting was as different and distinct from each other as night and day.

***********

The quaint little cafe where they seemed to know everyone regardless if they were locals or tourists - or supernatural beings - bustled with the hushed but crowded activity of a busy museum. It was warmly lit and cozy; perfect for its patrons who all seemed to prefer quiet little places just like this which felt very friendly but unobtrusive. However, it was the scent of authentic Maltese coffee being roasted and brewed on-site which made this quaint little cafe a tiny piece of heaven for everyone who entered.

Or a tiny piece of discreet fugitive hideout, a demon and former angel could afford themselves for the moment.

Certainly, either would really rather be sitting at a bar right now drinking themselves silly. However it was agreed very early on that getting sloshed at a time like this would be stupid and suicidal. Both knew that Hastur couldn't be far from their tails, if indeed he wasn't already outside the cafe door, about to barge in like the demonic lunatic that he was. It was only a matter of time.

Still though, it did not stop either from talking about it nearly constantly.

Aziraphel sipped delicately at his hot cup of coffee. It was sugary sweet and almost matched the equally sweet pastry lying half eaten on his plate. "I still can't believe how simple your plan is. I mean, _really_, my dear." The former angel said quietly, but the demon across the table could practically hear Aziraphale rolling his eyes.

"At least I have a plan. One which I'm fully prepared for." he said a bit defensively as he eyed the bags at their feet warily.

"Still though," Aziraphale said as he took another bite from his prinjolata, "one would think that for a being who's actually waged war alongside dear Alexander, you would have something more... strategically elaborate in mind."

Now it was Crowley who wanted to roll his eyes. "Angel, let me ask you first; whose idea was it for you to stay here despite the looming danger?" He stared pointedly at the angel.

"Now, see here Crowley, I'm absolutely against leaving you here alone to fend for yourself."

"And whose idea was it for *us* to confront Hastur right here and right now because - and I quote - 'we can't keep running anyway'?"

"Crowley! That's not fai -"

"And finally, whose idea was it to get only half the amount of Holy water I wanted because 'that should be more than enough'?" Crowley raised a brow, almost more amused than annoyed now.

Aziraphale closed his mouth, and looked guiltily to the side. He fidgeted a bit and finally went back to sipping coffee. Crowley smirked, but nonetheless happy that the subject was dropped. True, that his 'plan'', as it were, simply involved cornering then attacking Hastur in a direct confrontation. It really wasn't the least bit strategic, honestly. And yes, he really should have come up with a better plan, but he'll be damned - well, more so anyway - if he would admit that to the angel.

The last couple of days has been spent like this; talking, arguing and basically going in circles about what they would do when the Duke of Hell finally shows up. Crowley has quite accepted that fact by now, seeing that their first 10 hours together had been spent looking for every possible way to get Aziraphale out of here. Nothing panned out; flights were always full or cancelled, freak weather prevented any travel by sea and Crowley had to accept the fact that although he can fly both of them out, it wasn't exactly wise to do so. If they ran into Hastur in flight they would both be next to helpless, and dropping Aziraphale from such high altitudes did not appeal to either of them in the slightest.

So the hours bled on. Aziraphale did not seem to be bothered by this, much to Crowley's dismay. The angel simply thought that all these events meant that God just didn't want him to leave just yet. There must be some sort of divine plan going on.

Crowley on the other hand thought very much quite the opposite; that Someone was just going out of his way to make his life a little more difficult than it already is. Not only did he have the problem of disposing Hastur and escaping the sanctions of Hell for such an action; there was this whole another matter about this Paulo. It's been gnawing at his mind for some time now. While Aziraphale only felt marginally guilty for leaving the man to his own devices the last couple of days; Crowley on the other hand has been simmering with envy since he discovered this Paulo's presence in the angel's hotel room. Who in hell was this human He placed with his angel? Someone up there could certainly have just put him somewhere safer, devoid of any attractive human lovers. Not with some hot young bloke who thinks that Aziraphale is his to touch and hold and kiss -

Crowley mentally slapped himself. He should really worry about that after this whole matter was resolved. If he kept thinking like this, he might end up too distracted thinking up ways to dispose of this Paulo when he's got bigger and more pressing problems to worry about it. He stole a glance at Aziraphale who was quite happily munching away as he neatly answered a Maltesepaper's crossword. The new body and face certainly took a bit of getting used to; he literally looked very young and yet very old with the newspaper in hand and determined look on his face as he battled with 13Down. Crowley caught himself staring at this 'new' Aziraphale before him, and almost sighed had he not caught sight out of the corner of his eye a young brown-haired man enter the cafe. The demon narrowed his eyes and nearly hissed; Paulo.

***********

It was late in the afternoon by the time Paulo tracked them down. Although actually, if he was going to be honest with himself; it really took him longer because he wasn't actually looking forward to seeing more happy smiles from Ozzie directed to anyone other than him.

He had spotted them quite easily as soon as he entered the small cafe just a block away from the National library. Ozzie pretty much blended with the crowd with the number of tourists around, but that man right across him stood out like a sore thumb with his black designer suit and modelesque features. Paulo almost couldn't blame Oz for getting so easily attracted with him. The man looked like he could pick out anyone he pleased at leisure. Ozzie on the other hand looked like the direct opposite to the intimidatingly hard-edged persona next to him. Glancing from behind his menu, Paulo also admitted to himself that he really couldn't blame the man for being attracted to his Ozzie either. Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the cafe windows, Ozzie looked like an angel on earth.

A waiter appeared suddenly, distracting Paulo from his thoughts. He pointed at something on the menu, not really caring for what it was. His eyes slid quickly back to the pair on the far table. Oz seemed to be answering the crossword on the local-language newspaper, as he was oft to do. That gave Paulo some doubts though, for while that was completely 'normal' or Ozzie, it was also very, very strange. Oz, as far as he knew, did not speak Maltese, or even French, or any other language besides English.

Something was very wrong. Oz suddenly felt... different. And he wanted to find out why. A cup of piping hot coffee appeared before him, and he allowed that to give him some time to think. He didn't know what to do actually and he scowled, wondering why he was doing this to himself. Just watching and waiting, hiding.

Paulo brought up his eyes from his cup and immediately realized that the man in the black suit was staring at him beyond those dark sunglasses. He didn't know how he knew, but he was sure the man was glaring at him. At that moment, he felt a very cold chill shoot up his spine.

-

Crowley had actually felt him coming through the door before really seeing him. That human was beginning to get on his nerves, following them around like some sort of hound. He glared at Aziraphale who was oblivious to world. The angel didn't look the least bit worried about his current predicament; he pretty much seemed to be in full faith that everything will be alright by His power. Crowley internally blanched at this, thinking that it was wholly unfair that it was him who was getting very stressed about the whole situation. He smirked and brought his attention back to the man who had just entered the cafe. He watched him for a good half hour, simmering.

"Crowley, dear. You're hissing." Aziraphale said without looking up.

The demon gave an annoyed grunt, but kept his gaze upon the brunette. "I wasn't.", he said as he continued to watch the man fumble around with his coffee. Crowley stared at him, daring his rival to meet his gaze, and when this Paulo finally did, Crowley smiled like the flash bastard that he was. Without taking his eyes off the man, Crowley slowly brought a hand up to Aziraphale's , sliding slowly to brush against the angel's soft cheek and quickly buried his hand in the golden hair. He leaned closer, whispering something in the angel's ear, and with a devilish smile, stared pointedly at the man across the room. He was sending his message, loud and clear; Mine.

Several tables away, Paulo bolted up from his chair angrily. Who was this stranger who thinks he can touch his Ozzie?! Fuming, he slammed down a handful of change on the table and made to confront this son of the devil for daring to insinuate that Ozzie was his. Taking a couple of steps forward, he was suddenly jolted out of his rage when a cellphone rang abruptly in his ears. Confused, he stopped a moment, sure that he had left his phone back in the hotel. The rings were insistent, and he pawed through his pockets. Paulo was surprised to find his phone tucked neatly in his trousers.

"Hallo?" he asked, caught between being surprised and pissed off. Why was Chaz calling him at a time like this?

***********

Aziraphale had been insisting that what the demon did was not nice at all and that Paulo may well be very upset right now; when the Crowley spotted it.

Or him.

It loomed black and dark; shaped like some sort of vehicle, moving towards them very, very quickly. His heart jumped into his throat in surprise. Crowley suddenly felt very cold with the sickly sense of impending danger.

With barely enough time, he miracled on a pair of black gloves and grabbed at the black suitcase he'd been carrying first. He opened it hurriedly, with the angel only vaguely aware that the demon had jumped from somewhat relaxed to panicked in a heartbeat. With only a minute to spare, Crowley shoved Aziraphale into an alley which they've just passed on the way out of the cafe, just as the black 'car' came to an ominous halt just a few meters away. He swallowed hard, took out the lone object in his case and discreetly dropped the other bag within arm's reach. He'd have preferred the other one, but that required assembly and time which he didn't have.

The dark shape began to change before him, taking its time, as passersby began to notice. Screams and the sounds of panic and terror immediately followed as Hastur formed himself into something man-shaped before Crowley. It only took seconds for the once bustling street to empty itself of humans.

"Hello Crawly."

The lesser demon swallowed, but kept his face neutral. "Hastur. Took you long enough." he said loudly, hoping that Aziraphale would hear and take the clue to stay hidden.

"Crawly, Crawly. You don't honestly think you'd actually get away with this." Hastur said moving forward menacingly. "I mean, really. Protecting an angel? Thats hardly proper demonic behavior."

"Right," Crowley involuntarily stepped back a bit as the duke advanced. "The way its proper for you to be here without the Boss' go-ahead?" he fired back, weapon trained on the approaching demon. "I know you're not cleared to be here."

Hastur grinned, "So what? I don't need his approval. Can't see why he wouldn't want me to dispose of you anyway." The taller demon paused, a sickening grin plastered on his face as he licked his lips. "So, Crawly, where's your angel?"

Crowley swallowed, and watched Hastur approach slowly. His finger trembled at the trigger as a small bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "Who?"

"You know who I mean." Hastur said, enjoying this immensely. He glanced at the lesser demon's choice of weapon and made a mental note to be wary of it. Obviously, Crowley did not have any qualms about using any underhanded means, no matter how... holy it was. The duke allowed his eyes to scan the area, hoping to see any sign of the angel trapped in human guise. Of course he couldn't sense him, but certainly he can't be far.

"He's not here." Crowley said, "Now go away." He was just about to squeeze the trigger when suddenly, without any warning, Hastur sped forward in a dark blur, reappearing just inches before Crowley's face. The weapon disappeared from his hands before Crowley realized that Hastur already had him pinned against a wall.

"Where is he Crawly?" Hastur growled.

"Like I'm going to tell you."

The duke narrowed his eyes, and slammed Crowley into the wall harder. The lesser demon groaned in pain, but kept his mouth shut. Annoyed, Hastur repeated this again, and again and again, as the wall crumbled and cracked into dust. "Where's your pretty little Aziraphale, Crowley?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Sod off." Crowley hissed as he closed his eyes for a moment. He had lost count how many ribs and bones were broken now. Then suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Aziraphale's face watching them from the alley. It was angry, and terrified and righteous in a way only angels can be. The angel stepped forward and Crowley panicked; he knew exactly what Aziraphale was up to. It was both achingly touching and stupid - and Crowley could only watch, bloody and broken as the angel began to move.

No! No, no, no! Crowley's mind was screaming. The angel had absolutely no chance against a demon like Hastur. Don't do it Aziraphale, don't do it, don't -

"Stop it!"

The two demons' heads swung towards the voice. Crowley couldn't believe what was happening as Hastur's face split into a fiendish grin.

"I am Aziraphale." a young man with brown hair said, as he stared at them both with blazing green eyes. "Let him be, it is me that you want, demon."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Unlike many places and shops which I've mentioned in my fics so far, the bookstore in this chapter is my first completely fictional shop. Again, my sincerest apologies for taking so long with this.

**FOR A FAVOR RETURNED  
Chapter 7**

Paulo entered Serendipity Books in a hurried huff, attempting to get out of the rain as fast as possible. He took a moment to run a hand through his dark hair for a cursory check if everything was in order before shrugging off his black leather jacket. The bookstore smelled throroughly of ink, paper and coffee, and Paulo eyed the place warily. He really wasn't one for books, and the place must be frequented by such dowdy characters like his Aunt Lucia. Still though, he thought glancing at the heavy downpour outside, it was a respite from the sudden rain. He took a few steps forward tentatively, found that it actually felt somewhat friendly - the rich coffee scent lingering in the air certainly helped - and trudged on to look for a magazine rack.

It was about a half hour later when Paulo realized that someone had been following him. A sales clerk in a bright green apron tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but I've noticed that you looked somewhat lost. Are you looking for anything in particular? Maybe I can help you find it."

Paulo turned his head, surprised and a bit embarassed that he was really actually lost. "Oh. I, ah-" He began but found that his tongue refused to work when he finally regarded the clerk standing just an armslength away from him. The first word which came to mind was 'beautiful', despite the fact that it was clearly a man before him. The second thought was; fashion trainwreck. Paulo's eyes stared at the other's features, barely believing that the guy - despite having long blonde hair and the face of a cherub - was also wearing the ugliest tartan bowtie and suspenders.

He cleared his throat, and collected himself. "I, er... was looking for a... a book. Yes. A book." Paulo said surprised that he was, for once, actually at a loss for words.

"A book." said the blonde, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Well, what kind of book?"

"A book about -" Paulo wrestled with his wits and scrambled madly with his head to say anything. Say anything, just not 'car magazines' because that would sound incredibly dumb and stereotypical, he told himself. He glanced to the side and caught sight of a woman at the in-house cafe doing a crossword puzzle.

"About crossword puzzles." he said lamely.

The store clerk's blue eyes lit up. "We've got an excellent selection!" he beamed, "I myself love crosswords. Right this way."

Paulo secretly sighed in relief and followed the guy, surprised that he didn't just find some excuse to leave. He took the opportunity to watch his unusual 'find' as they walked past shelves and counters. The blonde guy dutifully straightened up or replaced books on shelves as they passed. Paulo caught sight of a small plastic nameplate pinned to the apron, it read; OSWALD.

"Here we are." 'Oswald' gestured to the bookshelf they stopped at. It was stacked high with an assortment of number and word puzzle books.

"Er, thanks." Paulo said, and idly picked up one at random. He flipped through it, pretending to be interested and the clerk turned to leave. "Oh, hey wait!" Paulo heard himself say, "What's a good book to start with?"

The blonde turned back and paused a moment to scratch his chin, thinking. After a moment, he bent down to peer at the lower shelves and Paulo found himself eyeing the lean form in interest. Green eyes fell upon the curve of the other's hips. Paulo cleared his throat and forcibly pried his eyes away, embarassed.

"Well, if you're into word puzzles, this is a good choice." 'Oswald' said, pulling out a thick paperback. "But lately I've been into this new thing called sudoku, you might want to try it." He looked up to the higher shelves and reached for another, thinner book this time. "I absolutely love it."

Paulo was still watching the book clerk, and barely realized that the other was actually talking when a couple of books were placed in his hands. "Thanks." he said like an automaton, just unable to convince his eyes to leave this handsome-dowdy-blonde-bowtied-dandy-hottie.

"No problem." The book clerk gave the books a final pat, as if actually unwilling to let them go, and turned to presumably find another similarly 'lost' individual to assist. "Let me know how you liked them." he called smiling, "I'll catch you later."

"Sure. Later." he replied and very soon realized he was walking out of the bookstore with a couple of books he never thought he'd ever spend money on. Paulo tried getting 'Oswald the Book Clerk' out of his head the next few days but found that he couldn't. When finally he succumbed to his inner voice, and with a close friend's prodding - by the name of Chaz - to 'give-it-a-go', Paulo once again found himself walking into that same bookstore one afternoon armed with a couple of caramel macchiatoes.

He quickly tracked down the blonde at the Religion section, on his hands and knees reaching for something under a bookshelf. "Hey." Paulo said, trying in vain not to stare at a certain corduroy clad bottom.

'Oswald' suddenly looked up, cheeks flushed. He looked confused for a moment before realizing who it was. "Oh, hello." He straightened up and dusted off one filthy arm which had been rummaging under the shelf. "Back for more puzzles?"

"You could say that." Paulo said and flashed his best bastard smile. "Here, uh, for helping me last time." he almost roughly thrust forward one of the cups in his hands, unaccustomed to being 'thoughtful'.

"Oh. Thank you." the other beamed, accepting the cup.

They stared for a little bit at each other awkwardly.

"I'm Paulo." said the brunette, deciding that being awkward was just not his style. He held out one hand, "Well, Antonio Paulo, but nobody's called me that since primary school." They both laughed.

"Oswald." the other pointed to his plastic nameplate and shrugged, "Or Oz to friends." They stared at each other for a bit more, not sure what to make of the other before Oswald eventually said, "Um, would you want to have our coffee at the lounge? My break's coming up anyway. It'll be a bit cozier."

"Sure, that sounds good." Paulo said and allowed himself to be led to one of store's many couches.

They had coffee that afternoon, and the best conversation either had had in a very long time. That afternoon soon became another. And another. Until the bookstore had almost become a second haunt for Paulo, and the other staff began to fondly recognize him as Oz's newest admirer. He was annoyed about that, of course, but it didn't stop him from visiting nearly everday. It was only a matter of time before he finally asked Oz out to dinner and the blonde found himself staring at a gleaming black and silver vintage motorcycle just as he stepped out of work.

"Wow. Is that thing still operational?"

Paulo beamed like a proud father; "Isn't she gorgeous? She's a genuine BMW R42. Inherited it from my great grand dad." He hopped on and nodded to an extra helmet behind him.

Oz followed hesitantly, "Er. Is it safe?"

"Of course, it is. Now put that thing on, bought it just for you."

Oz smirked but nonetheless slipped on the silver helmet as he inspected the seat. "Still, I mean. Was this thing even designed to hold two people?"

Paulo rolled his eyes and his heel brought up the kickstand.

"And what if we go too fast? We might crash and get hurt. Or worse!"

Paulo could just see Oz's eyes wide with worry staring at the back of his head. "Ozzie, we'll be fine." he said, already used to the blonde's endless worries. He revved up the engine, and the motorcycle came to life between their legs. "Just make sure to hold on tight."

"What? Wait I -"

And of course, Paulo didn't wait. He gunned up the motor and it sped forward instantly, forcing Oz behind him to latch onto him in panic. He felt Ozzie - as he so fondly calls the bookshop clerk now - wrap lean arms around his waist, hugging tight. With the warmth of Ozzie so close, Paulo thought he could hear his heart singing over the engine, as they sped away into the night.

***********

Hastur eyed the human with interest. The mortal looked no different from any other. It smelled no different either; making him wonder very briefly if it was indeed the angel. That thought was shoved quickly to the side however, as that was exactly why its such a perfect disguise. He dropped Crowley on the pavement without ceremony, and stalked forward. The angel looked completely unarmed and vulnerable - stupid. Just like the rest of its kind. So easy to give in, all for that one emotion: love.

The demon grinned, as he marched up to the brunette staring at him defiantly. He had to admit, he quite admired the courage he saw in those eyes. Oh, but that will change angel, he thought with delight.

Just a few meters away, Aziraphale watched in horror and disbelief. He couldn't believe what was happening. What does Paulo think he's doing?! Aziraphale thought as he knelt by Crowley. A functioning part of his mind told him that most of the injuries can be healed if he used a miracle, while another, louder portion watched Hastur stalking towards Paulo in morbid fascination.

You can't possibly be doing this for me, Aziraphale thought. Why are you doing this Paulo? Is your Ozzie worth this much sacrifice?

***********

Paulo woke up with a satisfied yawn and reached for his newfound lover. His arm however found noone, and he sat up, wondering for a moment if last night had been just one heck of a hot dream. "Love?" he said, looking around. His clothes were still on the floor, as were the remains of the alchohol they'd had last night. "Oz?" he called again, feeling a little flutter of worry in his chest. There was a moment of silence before he heard the most welcome voice.

"Good morning, dear. " Ozzie said with a smile as he came in with a cup of coffee. He was already dressed, much to Paulo's disappointment. He bent down to give his lover a quick kiss on the forehead before handing him the steaming cup. "I'm afraid I must be going. Don't want to be late for work."

"But its so early." Paulo whined, and set down the cup at his nightstand. "You don't need to be at work til after lunch."

"It is after lunch." Ozzie coughed a bit and leaned forward to give him a small peck on the cheek. "I'll catch you later."

"Sure." Paulo watched the tweed-clad back disappear beyond his doorframe. The sound of footsteps soon followed and Ozzie's voice called from the stairwell.

"Make sure you water your plants soon. It's not much of a shop if your wares are dying."

"Yeah, sure." he called back and knew that despite his disinterest in the plant shop his father had most unfortunately bestowed upon him, he'd be sure to do it just because it was Ozzie who said so. None of his parents could ever make him do anything they wanted, it was only Aunt Lucia who had any modicum of control over him. And since she's passed on, there was only one individual left on this planet that had any sway over his free will; and that had become Ozzie. Paulo did not know why at that point, but he knew that from the day he met Ozzie at the bookshop, he would be with no one else. That he would do anything for his Ozzie.

Anything.

***********

Paulo stared ahead, unwilling to show any fear. He could feel the demon's hot damp breath against his neck as he scrutinized him, no doubt wondering if he was indeed who he says he was. He steeled himself, he knew exactly what was being asked of him, and he was not fooling himself anymore that it was Ozzie who was actually looking at him with those wide worried eyes.

"Aziraphale, Aziraphale." Hastur whispered harshly into the human's ear, and Paulo could hear the vicious smile upon the the demon's lips. "Finally, I meet the object of Crowley's desires."

"Hn." Paulo grunted in reply, as his eyes darted towards the two beings a few feet away from him. He was minutely thankful that he has drawn away the demon's attention enough that Hastur did not notice a blonde haired human trying to pull a bloody Crowley away into the alley.

The duke of Hell finally paused in front of Paulo, and brought his face level with the mortal. Hastur stared into the other's eyes, as if trying to read the human's mind.

*****

Go make a run for it Aziraphale." Crowley wheezed as the angel tried hauling him into the alley.

Aziraphale smirked, "Stop being silly, my dear. Now help me move you somewhere safer, you could lose a few pounds."

The demon would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy to. "My bag."

"What?"

"My bag, angel." Crowley nearly growled. "I showed you how to use it. Do it."

Aziraphale paused, his eyes wide. He looked like he was about to protest out of simple habit, but had realized it was the best course of action. Especially seeing that, Paulo couldn't possibly draw Hastur's attention for too long. He let go of the demon's jacket and hurried to where the black duffel bag lay. It was heavy, and he dragged it back to a few feet next to Crowley who was busy attempting to realign some of his bones.

"Hurry. Before he notices you." Crowley said, trying to ignore the proximity of the bag. If Aziraphale makes a mistake, he may well just stop bothering trying to heal himself.

Aziraphale nodded briefly, and plucked out the heavy monstrosity from the bad and balanced it on one knee. Considering that its model name was Monster XL(1), calling it an ugly monstrosity was certainly not unjustified, in the angel's honest opinion. The gun looked like something out of a really bad science-fiction movie; replete with outer tubings and multiple nozzle settings, and Aziraphale was sure that the thing may well have once been brightly colored before Crowley laid eyes on it. If it weren't for the sheer gravity of their situation, the angel would have found the notion of using the thing as quite funny actually. But then this was from Crowley; a demon who took out another demon of higher position with just a door and a bucket.

He hefted it to his left, and began pumping the pressure tank, remembering that, as Crowley constantly reminded him; for maximum range, he has to make sure that the pressure, too, is at maximum. Aziraphale swallowed, and tried to concentrate even as his hands began to shake; it took about 60 or so pumps to fully pressurize the gun, and he had just begun to realize that they may not have that much time.

*****

The green eyes were glassy, and the demon could just make out a pair of beings in the reflection in those moist irises. Hastur knit his brows together, suddenly unsure.

Wait.

Was that another human next to the snake?!

*****

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley once, then realized with a sudden horror that someone else was looking at them now. He felt his body begin to move in its own terrified accord; his arms slowed down as his blood seemed to have turned itself into ice.

Aziraphale looked up to see Hastur staring back.

* * *

1 Super Soaker Monster XL was manufactured and released by Hasbro in 2001 - 2003. A Cylindrical CPS type watergun, with a whopping reservoir capacity of 3500ml, the Monster XL is the weapon of choice of discerning supersoaker afficianadoes. Its level and angled range output is nearly unmatched, and, when coupled with its multi-nozzle settings, almost becomes the perfect weapon for a demon looking to annihilate another demon. Its only setback was the long 'loading' time - and the rather garish colors its manufacturers deemed to give it. Of course, such a thing never stopped a demon, and by the time it was delivered to his doorstep, Crowley's Monster XL (and the recommended sidearm for such a weapon) was a very acceptable shade of matte black.


End file.
